


A Twisted Colour

by Sentionaut



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/F, Psychic Abilities, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sentionaut/pseuds/Sentionaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of the exploration of human limits and transcendence. An Escape. A Flight. A Return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Twisted Colour

Kim Possible is property of Disney. Beyond the Black Rainbow is property of Chromewood Productions, 2010. This is a work of fiction and not for profit. Original characters are property of author. A fan fiction by Sentionaut. 2013.

The chill of autumn air was left behind, cut off from the interior of the large octagonal building with a hiss of sterilized air. A second set of inner doors sluiced shut behind the good doctor whose long strides belied a middling stature. There was no hurry evident in the clip clop of each red soled oxford step down the short corridor. Ahead, the hall ended in a circular atrium, the center of which was occupied by a fair sized reception desk. Aside from a svelte brunette behind the desk, the place was empty due to the lat e hour. A white haze hung around the circular desk courtesy of the cigarette dangling from the brunette's mouth. Something approaching disdain flashed across her face, but it might have been a trick of the low lighting.

Either way, it seemed to have no little bearing on the doctor's mood, evident in a minute quirk at the edge of pale lips. "Bonnie, must I remind you again of the no smoking policy," the doctor said quietly, directing the comment almost absently toward the desk. She removed her brown overcoat and held it folded neatly over one arm. "It's a filthy habit, and gives me a headache," she swept past the station, heading toward the opaque doors of the elevator on the far side of the atrium.

The elevator car became visible through the doors at her approach as the opacity automatically dialed down as if she were peering through a one way mirror. "Third floor," she announced as the doors split, admitting her. The head nurse was doubtless going to ignore the comment and continue puffing away through the crumpled pack of pall malls that she habitually squirreled away, policy or no. They all had their transgressions; the doctor had long ago decided certain things bore overlooking to promote a pleasant working environment.

The trip down to her office on the third floor was brief and thankfully, her access badge blocked out the usually pervasive introduction to the institute that was generally piped through the ceiling speakers in the elevator. As long as one of the staff was present, the chipper vocals remained conspicuously absent. It was a recent change that she wished had been in place years ago.

As it was the canned speech echoed in the back of her head with crystal clarity, “Here at the Institute, we are at the forefront worldwide of neuropsychology, and new therapeutic technologies. Our head of research, myself, and our dedicated team of herbalists, naturopaths, and healers have found a way to make that dream a reality. Through our unique blend of benign pharmacology, sensory therapy and energy sculpting, we can guide you gently along the path to a new, better, happier you, all in the comfortable surroundings of our state-of-the-art facility and our award-winning gardens.”

Frankly, everyone had the whole of it memorized after their first week here. The researchers on the lower levels had it the worst. The elevator moved quickly, and three floors were but ten seconds of audible torture in the past. As the car reached her floor, it stilled suddenly, leaving an unsettled feeling in her gut, a momentary discomfort if that. As the doors opened, the hallway beyond flooded the crisp white of the elevator interior with a dull blue light. It was dim enough that it took the doctor a moment to adjust to the environment before she stepped free of the car.

Down in the lower floors, the deep sea blue would be replaced with a pervasive dull red, indicating night hours. Here though, the ambient light was set to perpetual dusk, just as she preferred. Anything brighter was aggravating for the long hours of work she put in. Unlike the deeper sections of the institute, this floor remained clear of the pungent odor of the cleaning chemicals; though the subtle hint of ozone from the institute wide sanitation system clung stubbornly in the air.

It was a short walk from there to her office, one of four on the floor. The deep blue light permeating the hall was indicator enough that the doctor was the sole occupant. The others preferred differing hues, primarily greens and something approximating sunlight. The latter irritated her, while the former tended to make the doctor drowsy. In any case, with the floor set to blue, she was safe in assuming the others had left for the night. Which was fine, as there would be no objections to her work, unlike during the normal operating hours.

The office space she used was in fact two separate rooms, adjacent to one another. The door from the hallway opened into the first room, a fairly spacious affair that boasted a black leather lounge, and a heavy wooden desk which took up one corner. The rest of the decor resembled the study in her home. It wasn't quite identical, but enough to draw comfort in the familiar styling.

Everything was hand picked and brought in over her long tenure as assistant to the Director of the institute. Such personal touches were generally frowned upon, but her position and statue afforded her the added luxury as long as she didn't flaunt it openly. It was but another part of creating an ongoing illusion of harmony. The real deal had been abandoned more than a decade ago. Now, only a facade remained.

Once, she would have claimed that she wasn't much different, a hollow shape constructed of naught but light and noise. Unlike the others, she'd been taught to see otherwise, shown the truth. There was significance in that. It was a rightness that needed to be transmitted to the world. First, there were preparations to be made, as it stood the world was not yet ready for the unveiling. Which was precisely why she worked so hard, long hours that would have eaten at the rest of the staff. It was why she was here tonight, to note progress. Progress was key.

Putting her coat down on the back of the desk chair, she picked up the cream handset of her office phone and dialed the number for the front desk. The rotary whirred with each digit, a pleasant sound that she relished for its symmetry. Listening for the tone, she smiled to herself when it connected on the third ring. The head nurse still took most of her duties seriously it seemed.

Bonnie's husky voice broke the momentary silence, "Yes, Doctor?" There was no hint of tension, or indication that she'd put out the offending cancer stick.

"Wake the patient and have her brought up now," she paused in her instruction after brief consideration, "set suppression to seven.” That was the only downfall to her late night work, the doctor mused. It was a necessary measure to ensure at least a modicum of cooperation from said patient.

On the other end, Bonnie didn't skip a beat. "Seven? As long as you're sure. She'll be readied in ten minutes. Give or take. She's difficult at this hour," she mentioned as a matter of habit. She couldn't outright refuse anything or complain too much given who she was dealing with. The other staff was a different matter. She had her way with them most of the time, and they folded or at least backed down if she really dug her spurs in.

The head nurse was acerbic under most circumstances, but something about the assistant director's bearing made it hard to argue against on her best day. Still, she felt compelled to at least put up a token resistance to the order.

"Bonnie," the doctor's voice took on a hard edge that brooked no dissuading. "I won't repeat myself."

"Yes, Doctor. Suppression at Seven, and she'll be ready and up in five," Bonnie ground out, cutting the connection from her end of the line.

Bitter blood between them or not, the doctor sat down at the desk and pulled out a clipboard from the drawer after hanging up the phone. A series of forms were pinned to the clipboard, the topmost of which already had notations. The penmanship was her own unmistakably clear hand, and consisted of the results of the last session she'd had with the patient in question, dated two days ago, after the most recent waveform session. 

Perhaps too soon after, she admitted. The girl hadn't been as responsive, too worn out from the treatment to even muster a token effort to communicate, much less the half-lidded stare she usually favored the doctor with. Tonight would be different, she could feel it the marrow of her bones. Her core thrummed with the hint of possibility, a single word would be enough however the girl might utter it.

Taking up a well worn fountain pen, she tapped it against the clipboard, a ritual tattoo that bore no discernible rhythm, but echoed in the office nonetheless. She bit her bottom lip and swiveled in the chair to face the padded door that led to the other room. The one specifically built for one purpose, a safe haven to conduct patient interviews with no outside disturbances. It was one of the newer additions to the institute, that she'd had constructed to suit her exacting requirements. More to the point, it provided the closest distance she would allow between her person and the more apt of her patients.

More so, the measures were designed with the upcoming patient in mind. Special Human Gamma, the third and most successful of the test subjects. The waveform experiments were rough on the physical and mental states of those exposed for any great length of time that much was clear. The greater effects had yet to be measured. Tonight, that would hopefully change, she thought while staring at the small ready light near the padded door. It flickered red steadily. But it would change soon enough.


End file.
